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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419994" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Early Morning bar room,1919</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">English pub by hienbau_photos</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Early Morning Bar room,1919</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I stared, stupidly, at his head<br>and the pool of red he bled<br>from the brass rail down onto<br>the barroom floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Had it been a half an hour<br>He, so cocksure of his power, <br>had first set foot<br>inside the barroom door? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd been alone but for the Doc<br>a Presbyterian Scott<br>who just come from<br>a hard delivery.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mom and child were doing well<br>but the Doctor looked like hell<br>so I sat him down<br>and gave the man some tea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I 'm the Pub man's assistant<br>and my job that Winter's morning<br>was cleaning up the place<br>for this day's trade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Had I been out in the snug<br>I'd have never met this lug<br>who is lying on the floor<br>fit for the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am Irish from Tyrone, <br>He was from Lancaster-shire.<br>To his thinking I was<br>a blight on English soil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was spoiling for a fight<br>which he started with a right<br>that sent me sprawling<br>on the barroom floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He said 'Get off the floor, <br>and I'll treat you to some more.'<br>'You stupid Mick! '<br>His boon companion smiled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not one to shun a fight<br>when I'm firmly in the right<br>and these arms were toned<br>by years of quarrying stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it surprise I saw<br>when He learned I'm a southpaw.<br>Satisfying was the sound<br>of fist on chin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As he commenced his trip to earth<br>It was the foot rail caught him first<br>He cracked his skull<br>and then he was no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His friend ran for the police<br>as his pulse and breathing ceased<br>Doc looked up at me and said<br>'This won't go well'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">' Take my bicycle and flee<br>Off to Scotland, listen to me, <br>unless you fancy<br>dancing on the wind.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I rode like one possessed<br>on the narrow winding roads<br>Early winter darkness<br>coming down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After, I worked on dairy farms<br>and spent three years in the mines.<br>Eventually, the case grew cold<br>and went away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I emigrated to the States<br>where they too have<br>their loves and hates<br>but the Irish are accepted in a way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a><div class=q>
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Early Morning Bar room,1919

I stared, stupidly, at his head
and the pool of red he bled
from the brass rail down onto
the barroom floor.

Had it been a half an hour
He, so cocksure of his power, 
had first set foot
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